


Clear Skies

by d_aia



Series: Alexander Is a What? [4]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: BAMF Alec Lightwood, BAMF Magnus Bane, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Magnus, POV Magnus Bane, Something!Alec, Stand Alone, Temporary Character Death, earth spirt!Alec, immortal!alec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 05:32:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10690773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_aia/pseuds/d_aia
Summary: They—Max, Rafe, and Magnus—didn’t even have a whole month. And Magnus feels guilty, up to a point, because Alexander hadn’t let a demon get the better of him until he was almost seventy. Stubborn darling. But Magnus thinks that if Alexander knew the reason, their son’s safety, he would forgive Magnus for dragging him into the conversation.*Magnus is confused, but ultimately happy.





	Clear Skies

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the tv show (and characters, locations, personal histories etc as are shown in it). This is the work of fanfiction.
> 
> A/N: Welcome to the final part of this series! Thank you all for your support! It means a lot to me. 
> 
> I write the characters as I see them, and Magnus has an odd way of talking, that I think he used to built his image, so the italicized words are put there intentionally. This story contains **temporary character death** , so be careful about that. Also, hover above the Spanish words for translations, or take a peak at the end notes :D. As always, thank you Lex!

In moments like these, Magnus misses his husband like mad. When the whole world had gone crazy, Alexander had stood up and did the right thing. It was one of the many reasons Magnus loved him, and it was definitely one of the big ones when it came to why Magnus respected him. Still respects him, now that Alexander’s gone.

Not even a month.

They—Max, Rafe, and Magnus—didn’t even have a whole month. And Magnus feels guilty, up to a point, because Alexander hadn’t let a demon get the better of him until he was almost seventy. Stubborn darling. But Magnus thinks that if Alexander knew the reason, their son’s safety, he would forgive Magnus for dragging him into the conversation.

Apparently, some Shadowhunters, having heard about Alexander’s death, decided that this would be an appropriate time to erase all the progress the Clave has been doing with Alexander dragging it along. How? By killing his son.

Rafe had been a twenty-eight year old Shadowhunter when he realized it wasn’t for him. He decided he wanted to become a vampire. He had their support and love, and, with a bite out of Jace so Rafe could move in the sun, he managed to make a smooth transition. Magnus had to admit that it was different for Rafe when he knew so many immortals before it happened, and it gave Magnus some hope for the future when it was that easy to make a choice.

And now? A Shadowhunter of mixed genetics, which he claimed not have, is waxing poetic on the platform about the Clave regaining its noble goals. When did the Clave even have ‘noble goals,’ if not now? And what are these completely false stats of Downworlder crimes? What the hell?

The worst thing is the other Shadowhunters, gathered in a big numbers, seem to agree with him. Magnus feels irrationally betrayed by these strangers. Don’t they see that, even if Alexander couldn’t completely change the Clave, he got them more than halfway there? Is Alexander’s life work something that every uppity Shadowhunter feels entitled to disrespect? Are they that nostalgic about the way it used to be that they would risk to piss off the remaining Lightwood-Banes?

 Fine.

They are going to have what they want. Why should Magnus care? He could kill everyone here. If they are so stupid as to not know when they are seriously outclassed, than why is that Magnus’ problem?

But it is.

Magnus would greatly enjoy leaving this crap in Alexander’s lap, while Magnus drinks a Margarita. He can’t. Alexander is no longer, and it’s again Magnus’ job to manage the Clave’s idiocy.

He looks at Rafe, who’s between two Shadowhunters he had personally trained, and at Max, glamoured in the public waiting for Magnus’ signal to act, and Magnus doesn’t see a way out. If Cyril—Jace and Clary’s nephew, to complete the picture—doesn’t stop, won’t mitigate his message, and insists on killing Magnus’s son, Magnus won’t have a way out. He’s going to have to resort to moving directly against them. All that work in acceptance, down the drain.

But isn’t it already gone to hell? If, by this time, they still think that Downworlders are shit, have they even made progress? Or is this the last hurrah of a losing faction?

Magnus doesn’t know, but he isn’t losing his son over this. Raphael, in the shadows with his Covenant, seemingly agrees. And so does Marie, Raphael’s second and Rafe’s sire, on the other side of the stage. A howl comes from behind the Shadowhunters, and they are surrounded.

“Leave us _alone_ ,” Magnus says when their situation—finally—registers to Cyril.

“No, the Clave will be noble again!” Cyril shouts. “Now that we can rip the Clave out of Alexander Lightwood- _Bane_ cold, dead hands—”

“He was your grandfather’s _Parabatai_ ,” Magnus growls. “They both _deserve_ respect. They lived through a war, _and_ learned from that. What did you learn? That the world is finally more tolerant, and you’re afraid you’re not going to get _attention_ now that the Clave is not supreme leader? Is that what it is? Don’t you _care_ about these people? You’re surrounded. It’s _over._ ”

“It will never be over!” Cyril yells, and attacks, seraph blade forward.

Cyril’s quick, lithe, and possesses a lot of strength. That doesn’t have the desire effect.  Magnus has trained with people who were stronger, quicker, and used their lithe physique better.  As such, for Magnus to catch the blade between his palms was child’s play. Yes, it burns, but not too much. For Cyril, though, it is the shock of his life. He behaves like he didn’t expect Magnus to do something unpredictable, and now that he did, Cyril doesn’t know what to do next. Magnus is himself taken by surprise when Cyril freezes in confusion, but Magnus has experience with things going haywire, and he presses his advantage by disarming Cyril and paralyzing him with a spell.

“What the hell was that?” Rafe shouts, forgetting himself for a second. “That was pathetic.”

Rafe’s sudden descent into his former role doesn’t affect only him because the two Shadowhunters next to him, that are supposed to be his capturers, snap into position, and look straight ahead. 

Magnus has the feeling he’s imagining these things. It can’t be real. He’s starring in a thriller comedy, and any minute now somebody’s going to wake him up.

Not Alexander, though, that time’s gone.   

That’s when it begins to rain. What? It was sunny a second ago, but why the hell not? Plus, the rain soothes Magnus’ hands, so the weather change has his stamp of approval. Go hard, or go home.

Then Alexander appears, and things turn a little high pitched for Magnus.

Alexander—for some weird reason he’s barefoot, blue eyed, and… he must be twenty five, thirty at most— _struts_ to Cyril, picks him up as if he weighs nothing, and glares at him.

“What is your bright idea?” Alexander asks calmly. But it’s perfectly timed, because as soon as he finishes talking, there’s a thunder to stress his words.

The Shadowhunters are elbowing each other, saying Alexander’s name with awe and incredulity. Not for long, because as soon as whispers rise, the Shadowhunters are attacking each other. Soon, they are fighting, blades flashing, and Max comes up on the stage.

Even with the bloodshed, Magnus is no longer sure that he wants to wake up.

The Shadowhunters that win reveal the lighthouse on armbands, and things start making sense. Not all things, of course, because Magnus could never be ready for the force of nature that is Alexander, but the lighthouse was taken up in Alexander’s time, a wordplay on the Lightwood that signals the correct way. It’s the Shadowhunter’s internal watchdog branch.

Apparently, Magnus took part in a sting.

The rebel Shadowhunters are shuffling guiltily, groaning on the ground, or dead. Rafe never bothered to subdue his own preferring to glare them down. The Vampires and the Werewolves are not impressed, and Max is shaking his head.

Cyril, for his part, appears to be speechless.

“Answer me,” Alexander demands, shaking Cyril.

Cyril is shocked silent.

“ _Darling_ , don’t make the poor boy soil himself,” Magnus says automatically.

It’s like nothing’s changed.

Even Alexander acts like he usually does. “He wanted to kill Rafe!” he complains grumpily. Or, at least, that’s what his family and friends hear. To the others it just sounds intimating.

“He would have _never_ gotten the chance,” Magnus says, a little bit stung.

Alexander turns to him, eyes worried, Cyril left floating in the air. “It wasn’t… I wasn’t—I _know_ you would have stopped it, I didn’t doubt it for a second. But then, he also wanted you to resort to spells, so you’d turn the Clave against you again. And he attacked you. How am I just supposed to accept that?” Alexander makes an expression that Magnus long ago coined, ‘the grumpy-cat special.’   

“Then make him pay _without_ the pants soiling,” Magnus replies trying not to giggle. Every time Alexander makes that face, it messes with Magnus’ composure. Alexander looks so much like his old cat, Church. “Can’t you, _Alexander_?”

“Yes,” Alexander answers, a smirk fitting in place. “I may have something. Do I have the Clave cooperation?”

“Would it _really_ make a difference?” Magnus murmured, winking at Rafe, who chuckled, while his brother rolled his eyes. It was odd that Rafael ended up more like Max Lightwood, and Max more like Raphael Santiago.

Alexander’s eyes slide to Magnus to give him an amused look, and then Alexander raises an eyebrow at the Lighthouse Shadowhunters. “Well?”

A blond haired girl, Magnus would bet she’s a Branwell, straightens. “How do we verify your identity, sir?”

“You are Allison Branwell,” Alexander starts.

Ha! Magnus nailed it. He moves his hips, and shuffles his feet in a small celebratory dance move. Alexander never turns, but _somehow_ Magnus knows that his husband has that gentle look in his eye that he gets every time any of his family does something cute.

As such, Magnus preens a little, and listens to Alexander as he continues, “You say you like throwing daggers, but you’d actually prefer a spear. I always tried to encourage you to wield what you like. Whatever it is, if you like it, it will work better for you. I never got to outright tell you, before I died, so I’m telling you now.”

That _is_ Alexander. Somehow, miraculously, Magnus has Alexander back. Breathing calmly, Magnus feels some of the weight on his shoulders get lighter.

Allison unnecessarily dusts herself, and straightens even further. “Sir.” She nods respectfully. “You have the Clave’s cooperation, of course, sir.” She hesitates. “Even if you didn’t, I’m sure you do now.” She lifts an arm to gesture around her, where all the Shadowhunters are awed, scared, or both.

Rafe and Magnus’ snicker, at the same time as Max and Raphael execute a perfect face-palm, and Allison shrugs lightly.

“It’s like you never left, sir,” Allison says grinning. “Welcome back.”

“You _are_ back, right Dad?” Max asks suddenly.

Magnus feels cold when Alexander’s expression turns pained. Rafe takes a breath, although he doesn’t need to, and Max nods, but there are tears in his eyes. Everybody else—Cyril included—stays silent.

“Not yet, Max,” Alexander replies. “But soon.” He takes a breath, and says, “I promise.”

Max takes his brother’s hand, and they nod together, like they are conditioned. And they are. Alexander never promised to do something and then not live up to it. Their sons, apparently, are as willing to listen now as full adults, as they were when they were ten. Alexander never disappointed them, and Magnus has the faith that Alexander is not going to start now. It doesn’t make Magnus feel a lot better, but it does lessen the chill somewhat. Alexander is going to be back soon.

“Now,” Alexander says, “back to you. I’m going to let the Clave punish you as they see fit. It’s their job.” Cyril relaxes, but Magnus knows that can’t be all. He’s right, as Alexander goes on to say, “And then they’ll decide if the punishment is enough. If it’s not…” Alexander steps closer, and Magnus does a spell to enhance his senses. He can hear Alexander whisper, “I’m coming, and you have nowhere to hide.”

And Magnus is not startled that he believes Alexander. After all, Shadowhunters don’t get old, they get terrifying. Plus, Alexander has always had an imposing air about him even if he isn’t actively threatening somebody, and if he’s actually trying… well, Magnus is not all surprised that _everyone_ believes Alexander. That is Alexander’s reputation, but Magnus remembers the time when it was instinct to listen to a warning issued in that voice, because if Alexander said it in that tone—then he means it and he has the resources to actually do it.

That begs the question: What sort of creature can find a person no matter where they go?

But Magnus doesn’t get to think on that, because Cyril nods, and Alexander hands him over to Allison. Alexander hugs the boys, men—their _sons—_ and he reiterates his promise to them. Then, it’s Magnus turn. He can’t help the tears he sheds when he’s hugging Alexander, feeling his warmth, and breathing him in. His scent is slightly changed, an addition of petrichor that wasn’t there before, but it’s still Alexander. And it makes Magnus miss him so much.

“ _We_ miss you. I miss _you_ ,” Magnus whispers.

“I miss you too, Mags,” Alexander says, and tightens his grip. “I miss you all.”  He releases Magnus. “Soon.”

And Magnus just watches him. He looks at him while Alexander steps back, and Magnus is still looking when the lightning strikes. His eyes narrow to slits, but his eyes never fully close.

“Avert your eyes,” Alexander mouths, looking heartbroken.

Magnus feels his heart beat faster at how well Alexander knows him, and understands that Magnus can’t close his eyes. It was never going to happen. But he can look elsewhere, and for Alexander he does.

In the end, it’s a matter of moments: Magnus sees the gentle smile on Alexander’s face, Magnus’ eyes dart to the sky, and then back. He’s staring at air. Alexander’s gone.

“Be back soon,” Magnus murmurs.

*

Magnus is at that Pandemonium. It has been three days, and Alexander is not back yet, so Magnus keeps himself busy. Today he was checking in on his club. He finished all this week’s clients in one day, and the second day he briefly thought about going to Paris before deciding he’d much better lay on couch hugging Alexander’s pillow. Tomorrow he is going to volunteer his services to the Clave. Yes, he has reached _those_ levels of jittery.

As Magnus makes his way across the dancing area, the Fae he is passing by suddenly pales and disappears. And then another. And another. Until all the Fae are gone. Magnus is confused, and people are disorientated.

“It’s not me, _is_ it?” Magnus asks loudly over the music, making the people around him laugh nervously.

Magnus inconspicuously checks the wards. They are fine. No tears, no hidden dangers, and no reason for the Fae to suddenly disappear. So what can scare a Fae and not trigger a Warlock’s wards? What senses do Fae possess, that Vampire and Werewolves do not?

Somebody touches Magnus’ hips—a question, an invitation to dance—but no one would dare. Magnus looks down. He knows that grip. He knows that carefully banked strength.  He knows those hands. And he certainly knows those calluses. They are made by the repeated use of a bow.

“Alexander?” Magnus asks.

“Yes, it’s me, Mags,” Alexander says close to his ear. “I missed you. I love you.”

Magnus shivers as he leans backwards. “I missed you too, and I love you too, and I’m _a bit_ disappointed in myself. It should have occurred to me that if there ever was an Earth Spirit created out of a human, _you_ would certainly qualify.”

Alexander tugs at Magnus’ hip, Magnus turns easily with a grin, and he finds that his happy smile has a twin.

“Now why is that?” Alexander wonders absently as he studies Magnus with adoring eyes. His hands slide around Magnus’ waist.

“Well,” Magnus says as he puts his arms around Alexander’s neck. “There’s the whole _thing_ with them being destructive when untethered…”

Alexander throws back his head and laughs loudly.

“And you are also a force of nature, so _that_ makes sense,” Magnus continues brightly when Alexander calms. “So who is it?

Smiling shyly, Alexander says, “You.”

Alexander chose Magnus as his tether. That makes sense, and it doesn’t. It makes his heart beat faster, and it makes him wonder. That is terrifying. Not only are Earth Spirits wild to the point of being chaotically deadly until they choose someone to love and they become forever tied to that person until the person dies, but also when that happens they die too. Alexander had practically tied his new life to Magnus’.  

“Why not one of the ki—Max and Raf—screw _it_! Why not the kids?”

“I didn’t want to be a clingy dad,” Alexander says, and the expression on his face is hilarious. “And…” He sighs. “I didn’t—I know you’d be honest with me if you ever need time or if you decide you have fallen out of love. You won’t feel obliged to be next to me because I raised you. We… I have chosen you every day, for as long as we’ve been together. And a bit before.” He smiles shyly, and Magnus can’t believe how gone he still is at the sight of that smile. “I’d like to think you are the same. _And_ I hope this won’t put any extra responsibility on your shoulders, that was not my intention, I…”

Happily, Magnus didn’t think he’d be doing this again, he silences Alexander by placing a finger close to his lips, and, as always, Alexander stops with a wry grin dancing on his lips. There’s eye contact, countless memories of similar occurrences, and Magnus has the falling sensation that accompanies the realization that he loves Alexander. Magnus thinks he’d always love Alexander, but he can’t vouch for that. What Magnus can guarantee is today, and he suddenly understands Alexander is saying.

“I do _choose_ you every day, Alexander,” Magnus vows. “And I promise you, my beautiful Raindrop, I am and will continue to be _honest_.” He drinks in the sight of Alexander, and says, “As always, you chose wisely. Welcome back.”

 “Thank you,” Alexander replies as he leans down. “It’s good to be home.”

*

“I don’t get it,” Rafe volunteers.

Max just shakes his head.

Alexander looks at Magnus, pleading for help, but Magnus is having a too good a time. Plus, he enjoys having the chance to dodge uncomfortable conversations again. If Alexander is still struggling in one minute, Magus will interfere, but not before. It’s Alexander’s species; he should be the one to explain.

“I…” Alexander ruffles his hair. “I control the weather, and all the water to lesser extent. There. How’s that?”

Rafe can’t suppress a shadow of the shit-eating grin Magnus would bet Rafe’s been hiding until now. He doesn’t cover it fast enough, and Alexander narrows his eyes. Rafe says, “I still don—”

Lightning interrupts Rafe, thunder and rain following suit.

“I’m sorry,” Alexander drawls, his now blue eyes are stormy. “I didn’t get that. Would you repeat it?”

“I don—” Rafe is interrupted again, so he shouts, _“I don’t get it!”_ Then he bolts, and Alexander runs after him.

_“Don’t run in the house!”_ Magnus hollers.

Magnus can’t contain his chuckles. Surprisingly, even Max bursts in rare laughter. He and Magnus have to eventually lean on each other as they laugh so hard they can’t sit up straight.

The problem is Alexander can’t keep up with Rafe’s speed, and Rafe takes that to mean he escaped. It doesn’t. When Rafe stops next to the sink, Alexander is there; when he stops next to a flower pot, Alexander is there; Alexander is next to the window, in the bathroom, near the bar, holding Mangnus’ coffee cup—Alexander is in every place a liquid is. Which is… everywhere.

Rafe stops short of entering the balcony. It’s drenched from the storm. “Uh-oh,” he manages to say before Alexander tackles him. Rafe goes down in a fit of laughter, Alexander digging his fingers in the most ticklish spots for maximum efficiency. “Uncle! _Uncle!_ ” Rafe howls, until Alexander mercifully lets him go after planting a big smooch on his forehead.

“I haven’t forgotten you either,” Alexander threatens Max, who freezes.

“There’s no way for me to escape, is it?” Max asks in a foreboding tone.

“Nope,” Alexander answers.

Max sighs. “Fine.” He offers his head with an air of defeat, but Magnus sees his quick smile.

Alexander ruffles Max’s hair with relish, before kissing Max’s forehead fondly.

“But really, are we okay?” Alexander asks earnestly.

Their boys smile, and answer at the same time, “Yes, Dad.”

“Good,” Alexander says, as he sits on couch next to Magnus, and takes his hand. Alexander repeats, “Good.”

*

“So you still haven’t let that go, huh?” Alexander asks as he learns on a marble column.

Cyril freezes. “You can’t teleport here.”

Alexander raises an eyebrow. “Really?!” He innocently raises his hands. “Someone should have told me that.”

Magnus giggles, letting go of all pretenses. He leans on his own column and shuffles around until he finds a comfortable position. His tied hands don’t help, so Magnus gets out a knife from his belt and saws through the rope. There, that’s better.

“What are you doing?” Raphael asks quietly from where he’s tied up the next column over. 

“ _Making_ myself comfortable,” Magnus says. “Do you need _some_ help?” He sees the key to the chains and summons it, along with a porcelain vase. A second of attention and the vase is an identical copy in porcelain.

_“Sí,”_ Raphael answers quickly. “Give it here.” He looks at Alexander, but still catches the key. “Are we going to have a show?”

“ _Lights_ and all,” Magnus confirms.

Raphael gets out of the chains and leans back with an approving smile.

 

**Author's Note:**

> “Sí,” Raphael answers quickly. “Give it here.” He looks at Alexander, but still catches the key. “Are we going to have a show?” = “Yes,” Raphael answers quickly. “Give it here.” He looks at Alexander, but still catches the key. “Are we going to have a show?”
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you want to comment (or just talk to me) you can do it here or on my [tumblr](http://e-alexandrescu.tumblr.com/).


End file.
